To Love You Again
by Christain
Summary: A century after the death of a young teacher on Christmas, a strange phenomenon occur with children losing their "lights" continually. But none of said guardians can find out who's behind all of this... Until a certain winter guardian can. Eventually BenneFrost with Immortal!Jamie.
1. Prologue

**A friend once told me: If you didn't make your OTP suffer, then you didn't love them as much as you thought you did.**

**She left me speechless, and an hour later, I had the most intense metal seizure.**

**The consequences last until this day.**

**... Why are you reading my rants? Focus on your couple being ruined by my writing!**

**EDIT NOTE: Yeah, I fix a few things, add some new lines to work the plot. I sent my thanks to Ghostina, the lovely beta-reader who I owed to a great extent.**

* * *

**0. Prologue:**

**It **came slowly at first, gentle as snowflakes fallen from the misty clouds on the first day of winter.

He woke up, and his first instinct was to look longingly at the windowpane -_never locked, like this beating heart of his_- and patiently wait for winter. When the winds blew in to kiss his forehead, he would then lay down and pretend to be asleep. Winter would soon wake him up with a cold gush of freezing winds and bitter frosts. He would yelp, but the cold would never last long. He would groan, but with hidden awe, he saw a flutter of fresh snow coat everything in his room in a delicate, and somewhat dreamy, atmosphere. Then Winter would laugh, warm and silvery like what the soft melody icicles would make when they dangled together in the breezy winter wind.

Winter would ask the boy if he was ready to have some fun.

And he would sink himself a little deeper, in the pit of the bubbling joy swelled inside his stomach, and while his lips could say "yes" a million times over… he would take anything if it meant winter could stay longer - forever maybe; however, he was content with anything winter gave him.

It became a routine, once a full December, for eleven years. And from a routine, it became a closure. And from a closure, it became something more, something he had expected, but had never hoped.

Jamie Bennett was in love with the winter.

He blamed himself - because it was, and supposed to be, a platonic love, a boy and his pseudo brother having no care of the world as long as they could find their joy in the white pure snow. He intended to stay that way, brothers forever, until he found that 'forever' was words that was meant to be broken, and no longer could he see his winter as a brother anymore. Not when Jamie, when in his most confused age called "fourteen" and still believed in the Guardians, found winter was unrealistically beautiful as the snow circled and threaded into locks of silver strands that he loved so much.

It was when he realized that he was falling too fast, _too _emotionally attached to a thing he was not supposed to fall for.

To be honest, it was hard not to - he could resist, and it would be hard, but at least it could never happen – yet despite everything, he chose to fall. Because when he was sixteen, winter told him a story about a boy who fell through a frozen lake while saving that boy's sister.

Because winter was strong, winter was lonely, winter was crushing him with frozen tears dampened the pale, smooth skin. And he was Winter's most important person in the world, Jamie heard.

At that moment, he chose to submit, he chose to love winter with every fiber of his being while holding winter's pale delicate hands, whispering that he would always be there for the lonely winter, as winter had done the same (maybe more than enough) for him.

* * *

Even when his winter had abruptly left him to fend off his heartache, he had not regretted his choice of love for a single day. His only regret was to own a coward heart, a heart too shy to speak its feelings.

With eight years passing, Fate had given him no chance to be free. Therefore, he kept these unavowed feelings underground.

But it hurt, inside out, as he kept staring at her crying face while she kept shouting, pleading him to get up. She didn't understand, she couldn't with her age, when he said he would stay despite his words earlier. A child like her could not understand such a lie - the false promise, dripped in the sharp air, that _they_ would get out alive and unscarred.

The boy had long gone to his eternal slumber, and his body was just cold limbs and stiff bones ached with unbearable pain.

"Mr. Bennet, please!" he heard her sobbing, scrambling small hands brought forward to him in desperateness. "Please... Get out of there! Grab my hand! _You promise!_"

His story must end here, so hers would continue. The child was too young, too innocent, to never have Christmas again… Even with how cruel it was to let her see him like this.

The worst he could do now was to smile, as the bus let out a deafening screech and came skidding off balance that had been relying upon the narrow cliff. His heart stopped and his body felt light when the bus fell down into the black pit, and a pang of guilt gnawed his gut as he heard her cries, the horrible sound filled with anguish.

It was the last thing he remembered before darkness consumed him whole, paralyzed him with pain.

* * *

First word: You have no idea how important you are to someone. You, reading this, is such an incredible pleasure for me.

Second word: Please read, review if you're interested, and fav/follow if you want to!


	2. In Remembrance

**What is this? An update from a seemingly abandoned fic? Are you kidding?!**

**I admit, I'm guilty as fuck. Whenever I ran into a writer's block, please expect a severed break in my writing since I was a hopeless case, and I tend to steal a lot of time while writing. I think there is a name for this phenomenon, "Procrastination" -**

**Ahem, it's n-not like I'm defending myself from... guilt...kay? A considerate writer should never bore her lovely readers with LONG author's note that has NOTHING to do with the fic!**

**And with that, please enjoy what I can conjure in these past months, and forgive me for my lateness.**

**A/N: My original plan was to split this chapter into two; but after spending a few days in consideration, I kept all in one chapter - it seemed to be a disservice, splitting and keeping lovely readers waiting. Expect a long read!**

* * *

The fear of death is a fear crowns by all others, for it shuns the bravest mind and destroys the weakest soul. However, the best are with those whose souls are untainted, for those are raw, pure and exotic to savor... Thus greatly strengthens those who thirst for it - the embodiment of nightmares, and Ruler of Fears... Pitch Black and his Fearlings.

When Pitch sensed such, in the still of the night before Christmas, deep in the high hills of the Appalachians, he was more than eager. A chance to regain his former glory he once had… how could he pass that.

His delight was stomped when he was pacing on the deserted roads suffering in a violent blizzard; the sharp winds did nothing but annoy the black shadow. He stared at the pierced metal - what once was restriction lines - and deep into the steep cliff. _A dead man is a useless man_, he thought with a grim face, _and useless people help no one._

Just about when he turned his back and went home, he heard a small noise - a small whimper of a girl. And there it was, a languish light slowly ascended from the rugged top-rock... A small hand, spattered with dirt and cuts, clutched tightly at the high ground.

Pitch watched, silver-golden eyes glowed in amusement and half-curiosity, as the little child struggled to climb up. She bit her lips when her hands gripped too tightly at a sharp rock, but nonetheless stood on her trembling knees and started running, her dirty coat and a green scarf that was too large fluttered in the heartless wind. He couldn't avoid the dull twinge when she ran past him, but her rich fear made up for the pain. He hadn't shifted from his spot since the girl came up from the dark and ran away, her shaken hands glued to the unflickering blue light of the candle.

_A beacon that never goes out no matter what_, Pitch mused with disgust_, a candle crafted only by the Yeti's artistry could handle such monstrous weather_. Only a handful of children received such presents.

A wicked smile glided on his dry lips, cuspids bare in the snowstorm as he descended the lightness pit with ease, blackened heart soared with newfound delight.

* * *

In a later state of hypothermia, the pure color of snow really painted the surroundings into a beautiful dystopia. It had that magnificent, granted the person perishing in it a sense of comfort and relishing the splendors for the last time... and then ironically realized, _oh_, your life withers when the beauty grows.

Too lost in what he loved best, he lost his awareness in everything else: Instead of counting the second he had left, he numbered the specks of snow sojourned on the broken windows, before they went on with a whisper of wind and settled on his cold nose instead.

He had counted twenty-nine, until he forgot what came after twenty-nine.

"You look dead, James Bennett."

Jamie didn't move when Pitch came closer, black cape scattered the white flurries around. He didn't react when low, callous voice hit him, sardonic as it was amusing. He didn't want this horrible repressed feeling - "Fear" - risen inside him again, as cold silver-gold looked down to dull brown. Even so, what he wanted always against what he had; after all, this was his outcome, as horrible as how it went hours ago.

"What's wrong, too cold to reply?" Pitch sneered, the black specter barely nudged at Jamie's useless legs, pleasingly smiled as he inhaled the new waves of dread radiated from the young man, whose skin stitched in frost and mouth gasped shaky, white breaths. The sensation was not as enthralling as the young child before, but he got the satisfaction.

"Pitch." Jamie breathed, eyes continued to cast down, unmoved. "... You came."

The Nightmare King frowned, blinking eyes wandered down to another body pressed close to the man. A little boy, with skin so blue and hair so wet, sleeping soundly in a slumber that knows no breaking. The boy wrapped in a big coat, too big for a frame like him – resembled to a newborn covered in all the softest blankets, looked content while knowing the world was going to protect such fragile beings. The alive one was, of course without a right mind, missed his coat. Pitch wanted to laugh at how stupid, how ridiculous the mortal was, sacrificing his warmth to a life in futile.

"Why yes, yes I did." Pitch said sarcastically. "You never thought I'd come. I never thought you'd have dead company nearby."

"Nah... Asleep. Can't ya see his dream...?" Jamie smiled; frosts on his face wrinkled and broke, as the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Look, golden sand, a snowflake! ... Don't wanna steal it?" Jamie waved his hand rigidly on the dead child's head; his movements were like a drunkard. Pitch smirked with an incredulous look.

"The dead has nothing of use for me, but thank you for the offer."

The shadow-master finally changed his interest to the death-filled scenery. That young man (or should he called him 'a brat', deemed he had not outgrown his childish belief despite being _twenty-four_) didn't have much longer, as the final stage of hypothermia had kicked in. Pitch swept away the thick, irritating snow under his feet as he wandered about the wrecked bus, examined the crumpled metal and the shadows shrouded just right in this place. However, _of course_, the snow was doing its job at ruining the eerie atmosphere he rather enjoyed, in a beautiful way.

He glanced to the man resting motionlessly on the cold metal floor.

_Kind of ironic doesn't it, James Bennett._

Time seemed to slip by unnoticed, just like how this young man fell into this pit. Lying under the depth of loneliness, waiting for something uncertain. Expecting death to grasp at his breath in any seconds. Being watched by none other than the ruler of the shadow, while the color of the night concealing his fading existence from the bright, merry world. Pitch thought about the setting he was witnessing, and how familiar it was, compared to his. Before he became the King of Nightmares.

For Jamie, this was a time of reminiscence. How pain, lost, despair, acceptance, and fear ran through his head since he first woke up again in the cold darkness. He remembered begging and screaming at the merciless wind, at the bitter snows (so cold, so unforgiving, so cruel... so _unfamiliar_), for a miracle in countless times. While holding a small, fading life in his arms, and stared at the sky he could no longer see.

Only one got out, and no one came back. Not even a soul, not even the sight of _his winter_, whom he yearned within the last bits of his senses, came. Bitterness filled him.

The silence kept stretching on. Pitch wondered if the mortal in front of his face had any regrets, yet.

He didn't have his answer for a long time.

"Finally, he's dead." Pitch scoffed, feet glided on the surface before they halted, eyes stared down at the squishy, frozen jumble under his feet, right in the driver's seat. A grotesque of red, gray metal, brown leather… and what was left of the ill-fated driver: an arm. "Wasting my time to chase after _some _fear only to taste it for a second, then what do I get left? Dead bodies and blasted blizzard." He dusted off a snowflake grappled onto the tattered leather of the seats; the soft touch turned the white spot into specks of dark sands. "Useless."

" ... Then, why'd ya stay?" Jamie's voice startled him, who was about to leave the wrecked bus for good. "Why didn't... go and chase after it?"

Pitch gave a long thought, but he just blurted out what he didn't want to say. "It's, perhaps, curiosity that drives me to see your pitiful last moment… It compensates a little for what you've done fourteen-years ago - Although, to be fair, it wasn't that worth the trouble."

Jamie hummed lightly, mouth curved slightly on the stiff blue skin.

"Can't have you ... disappointed now, can I?" Jamie breathed more rapidly; his skins get paler and paler every wasted breath he took. "I'm... I guess it's gonna be over... for a second now."

Pitch raised an eyebrow, nevertheless stood closer, lamenting the small wavering fear fading away from the quivering, pale man.

"Hey... Pitch, I know we have our differences, but ... can you hear me out, one last time?"

_Please_, Pitch heard.

"What is it?" He replied coldly.

Jamie inhaled a shuddering breath, his hands swollen with frostbites. The shivering went worse: The man was in constant and seemed almost impossible to move any parts of his body.

He waited for Jamie to speak again, but all the phantom saw were heavy eyelids, hyperventilates and incoherence mumbling... An ill sign reminded for a fate was about to end in the iciness.

His breaths escaped his mouth, white clouds getting clearer with each huffs.

"If you see Jack, b-but I'm sure you will... please tell him... That no matter what he'd done… I can't forget him… nor regret meeting him…"

His eyelids shut tight one last time; a single droplet of tear brimmed on his eye corner, then slid down on his cold cheek and finally froze on the corner of his smile.

"Thank you Pitch... for not... leaving me here alone... I can't… thank you enough..."

The Boogeyman just stared, too lost in bewilderment to speak. _It was just a surprise_, Pitch reassured himself - but he kept looking and staring - while all of his devious resolutions from before were all... Gone. Swept away, like how a single glimmer from the Moon washed over the benumbed body with such gentleness, as if the holy beam was comforting him, protecting him from all earthly pains.

Jamie was as content as he was departing his life, strangely fitting for the way he should be.

"Tell... Jack..."

Jamie inhaled one final breath, lungs savoring the chilly air he used to love so much for the last time. And like the final ticks of a clock running its hands before the battery ran out, he urged all of the energy he had left before his body finally gave up and rest forever, in his final words.

"I still... love him."

* * *

December 27th, two days after Christmas, an unlikely time to visit the cemetery. Yet there were, from dawn till dusk, two women stood idly in front of a new tombstone: one blond, and another was a brunette. Although, if there was a family happening to past by, the child would comment on a third party: a young man with blue sweatshirt and snow-white hair wordlessly stood afar off them, face hidden in the blue hood.

It was supposed to be a normal family reunion, a normal Christmas dinner. Her dad would bang loudly on the door at early morning while singing 'Baby It's Cold Outside' with a horrendous voice, until his (ex)wife let him in. Her mom would bake cupcakes and turn on the carols loudly until the neighbor yelled at them (but they were used to it by now). Moreover, they would go shopping - the local market always had a big sale from 6 to 9AM - and Jamie would carry all the groceries no matter how hard he whined. Lastly, the Bennett household would gather around the fireplace after a grand meal, have hot chocolates and count the minutes until Christmas is over.

It was traditional, even after the divorce and Jamie went to Virginia for teaching.

On the 24th, everything was the same except Jamie's presence.

On the 25th, her mother tried to call her son multiple times, but "The number you've dialed was unresponsive." was all she got back.

On late 25th, the police came by. Her mother collapsed.

On the 26th, the Bennett held a mourning ceremony. Many came, but little needed.

On the 27th, today, Jack came. Sophie remembered socking him as hard as she could in his face, before breaking down with Pippa soothing her, as Jack stared down the ground with an unreadable expression.

* * *

On the 28th, only the children came, too clueless and shocked to shed a tear.

* * *

On the 29th, people swore that there was a lone wraith dressed in long black capes, came out of the shadow and stayed at a certain place until sunrise.

Pitch Black stood on the fresh tombstone, feeling the cold fog of the soundless night and the tiny sprouts of grass tickling his boots. The Moon was clear from all the clouds, gentle lights shrouded where the specter stood and moved up to his shoulder, the comforting warmth of the Moon was alien to him - yet, had he desperately craved for it for thousands of years –

"Don't you dare." Pitch hissed, eyes filled with venom as he glared at the gentle round light up the dark, starry sky. "Your implications are nothing but bullswool, and your pity disgusts me. The boy'd been just a pawn you've lost, and he shall despise you... as deeply as _I_ do."

The moon was silent, as always, but he could hear something paralleled to a soft scorn, coming from what he hated for thousands of years.

_You don't know_, it said.

Pitch didn't waste his time anymore, not with the dark sky started to shun away, gave up its place to the dawn slowly risen up. He glanced at the tombstone once more, and then grazed over the vast ground before disappearing into the pine forest, completely dissolved into the shadow shrouded the trees.

On the same night, it was Nurse Halton's shift to take care of little Helena Evan, a fifth grader who was unconscious when she arrived at the hospital... along with three dead bodies the rescuers had found. One was severely distorted, two died from serious hypothermia with open wounds.

It was on the night of Christmas, she remembered dreadfully.

The nurse, at that moment, was in deep thoughts about her young patient. The child was too young to withstand the lost of her younger brother's life in such tragedy. That was when she saw, through the door left ajar, the girl had finally awakened and talking casually to herself... Or so it seemed. The elder woman decided not to disturb.

"It was dark, and cold, and we were so hungry... but when he told us about you, and the Guardians, we weren't scared anymore."

...

"Sam... He was sleeping so well, and Mr. Bennett said, 'Ssh. Let him sleep.' ", Helen said while putting a finger to her lips, and continued, "I asked 'Why can't I wake him up?', but he took me to the windows and hoisted me up... He didn't reply."

The girl's frame suddenly dropped as she went silent, timid olive eyes kept staring at an empty corner. The nurse was tempted to interrupt, but something stopped her.

"H-he... He brought me up to the roof, and told me to hold tight. He gave me his scarf... It was warm, but then I remembered my brother... I asked him, 'Why don't you go up?'..."

The room temperature went down a couple degrees. Helen was sobbing.

" H-He just... s-smiled and stayed there, but I didn't want to leave, not without... s-so I yell at him to come up. I tried... I didn't want him and Sam to leave me alone... B-But..."

...

"The car... It went down before... before I could..."

Helen's sob were more furious by the second before it broke into a heartrending cry.

"I-It was my fault…! I-I asked him to stay on the bus because I was scared...!" Helena choked between the sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

When the nurse broke into the room, she swore she had seen a silhouette of a boy, with hair as white as the fresh snow in December, before a massive gust of wind flushed hard in her face. In a matter of seconds, there were no one else presented, except a stunned woman and a startled child, whose face swelled with tears.

The boy seemed to be in great pain.

* * *

It was late in the evening of December 30; the day marked the withdrawal of winter and the return of spring. However, in this cemetery, where a spirit stood motionlessly for a long time until a woman with short brown hair came, winter was a constant force of nature dominating the reserved area.

"She told me you visited her last night, and asked me to return this to you." Pippa started quietly, gloved hand reached into her pocket and held out a blue candlestick. "She said that… Because of it, she could find her way to the rescuers."

"'S good that she did." Jack replied flatly, still staring at the frost-covered ground underneath his foot. He took the candle without looking.

Their sights focused on only one thing. It was a particular headstone favorite by winter, with beautiful, delicate frost patterns across the stone's surface.

"...Why didn't you come back?" Pippa asked, voice merely a wisp of sound torn in the horrible waves of emotions. "He waited for you, ever since graduation. He had made sure to spend at least once a day to check the old window in that bedroom, to see if you would come and spare him the pain. No matter how busy he was, or how much I'd reminded him that he was _with me_."

Jack did nothing.

"It continued for six years Jack, right in front of my very eyes. But when _his_ eyes closed forever, you would still refuse to give him _a chance_."

Jack said nothing.

The more Pippa stared into the engraved name of her fiancé, the more agitated she felt toward Jack. While the one was to blame, his shoulders stiffened and hands clutched the crooked staff, face hidden under the blue frost-embroidered hood.

The frosts under his feet thickened.

"I don't get it Jack… I am his fiancé! I, who comforted him, stayed with him and _loved_ him for _six fucking years_, can never be the person his heart yearned for! I am not that someone he cried for, nor the one his heart ached just thinking about!" Her voice was furious, but broken - unsuited for a hardened L.A lawyer. "Tell me _**why**_, Jack!"

"You don't have to know." was Jack's small reply, the tone was nothing but frigid; it was one-step away from Pippa punching him as Jamie's sister had.

"… Oh, _of course_, because the only one that deserved to know was him - cold, _dead_, and buried 3 feet under ours!"

"Stop it."

"'_**Stop it**'?_" She was yelling now, her throat stung from the cold air nipped at her lungs. "Do not treat me like some clueless underling just because I had done what you asked without obligation, while you fled and hid like a coward full of bullshit!"

Jack's facade nearly shattered when Pippa screamed at him those last words:

"I bet you didn't even hear his plea to save him… You just want him DEAD!"

"_I SAID STOP!_"

The shepherd staff slammed down, where layers of frosts fixed to the ground quickly escalated into lumps of crystallized ice, freezing solid anything nearby. The ice bit into Pippa's left foot - it was such a horrified surprise that she could only let out a shaky yelp. Jack, still retained his gentleness after such an outburst, recalled the ice almost immediately, and turned away. The middle of his staff, where his hand had gripped like vice the whole time, started to wrench. It didn't matter, since he could always mend it back with ease.

Jack wished everything inside him were as easy to fix as that.

"... I'm sorry, I..." Pippa muttered, still not recovered long after the shock. "I-I didn't mean to- Of course you'd never ... But the way you ... And I lost my temper..." Her voice trailed away, "I... I should go."

"Please." Jack's voice was equally small.

The young woman reluctantly nodded. She glanced at Jack one last time, mesmerizing how beautiful the snowflakes were in this cemetery while caressing the golden band on her ring finger, mournful face reliving old feelings one last time. She whispered into the thick air, and walked away, soft crunches on the white snow echoed far until no sounds were there anymore.

_"I tried, I really did... But none could make him happy like you did."_

The wind delivered the whispers to his ears, hoping that the boy would listen... Like the night of Christmas, and the nights before, and before. If he had listened, then thing would have been...

However, the wind was his silent companion. Never raised attention nor eased his loneliness for three-hundred years. Bided his every whim and watched him suffer without oppositions. To be his constant servant, encircling his hair and soothing his shoulders as the winter spirit broke down, white knuckles gripped the round stone and body shook with each sob bitten back.

* * *

**100 years later…**

"_Even with harsh winter plunge a land once called Burgess into a wasteland – known as 'Dead Winter' by refugees inhabited the town before -, the legend lives on. In the vivid memories of those who survived the Great Hail, the story said: When the first snowflake fallen from the sky, when the first wind of the Northern Sea brings the cold into the land, a single headstone will glow with the most beautiful patterns of frost. It also said, while the blizzard may go dreary in this deserted land, the Garden of Remembrance is the only thing it won't destroy - as snows shaped like tears blanketed the whole place in a serene sadness..."_

The man clasps the thick leather book with a soft thunk, blazing eyes stare at the small boy sitting still in his out-sized bed, and a befuddled look stretches across his baby face. The silence that dwells between them is almost pleasant to tolerate, until a small beep shatters the stillness hanging in the atmosphere.

It is 1 AM.

"Was it not enough?"

The boy finches, perplexed blue eyes darting around - like a wanderer coming out of the land of dreams, only to have realities knocks him down. He stares, dazedly, from the mysterious being to the flickering candlelight color his dark room an illusory sight.

"The story, the lights, and the confirmed myths you've heard for too long yet believed for too scarce." He repeats. "My existence." he repeats again, voice almost falters, yet face remains unruffled.

The boy, as ignorant as he appears to be, shakes his head in disbelief. "It's not true! They are just myths, children's stories... Unreal!"

The words may fool the naive, if his eyes follow what his mouth declares.

As an opposite, the mysterious man is calm, with blazing eyes seem to hold an urge to burn the child alive; yet, deep inside those garnet irises behold no sadness, no anger, blank and dull.

He lets the child go on for a long time, until the boy's shoulder slumps down, his frame shrinks.

"Mom said it's just 'delusional talks'. She doesn't believe in them, so she never told me any."

"You see me." His voice is distant and holds no comforts for the child. "That's enough." Then, he sees it, the small flicker of light lightens back in the child's eyes.

It is the same thing every night: The same dumbfound expression; the same incredulity; the same argument; the same silence; the same acceptance; the same look on the children's face when they believe. The same, the same, the _**same**_.

Although, there is one thing consistent in his repeating schedule too. One that is his favorite. His hands are twitching and his mouth goes parched with hunger.

"So it's true? That Mad Jack actually has, like, a lover?" From someone quite somber an hour ago, that boy is actually animated. "Winterland was a living town before? And the Garden of Remembrance has him there?"

The boy is practically bouncing when he gestures to the boy to lie back in bed. "I don't think people call him 'Mad Jack' anymore," he says sternly, "Jack Frost is more likely his name - although the arrogance and his destructive nature are still there, more or less."

"Jack Frost? The Guardian of Joy? He was the one who destroys Burgess?!"

"Mm." He replies coarsely, dimly lit candlelight starting to fade away, inviting darkness to occupy the space as it was before an hour ago. Yet the boy's limpid blue eyes are there, bright as light, staring at him with newfound faith.

"What's your name?" the boy asks excitedly. "My name is Daniel. But I'll let you call me Dan. My friends all call me that."

The man stares at the smiling boy, tentative amber orbs recount the heard words.

"I… I am Candleman. And I'm not your friend." He means it.

"Candleman." the boy whispers, a brilliant smile graces on his lips. "Will I see you again, Candleman?"

The spirit, but we will call him Candleman from now on, glooms over Dan's bed; eyes bright as flaming spheres meet trusting blue sky.

"Go to sleep." Candleman mutters slowly, an ethereal hand aims dangerously near the boy's heart.

He sinks in, and pulls when the boy passes out.

* * *

_There are three things remain the same in his perishable life, one thing different. That difference is the care he scarcely receives by the human. Only a handful asks his name in obliviousness, and none has addressed him as a friend until today._

_The last three things, they are something he callously enjoys. _

_One, is the trust they always radiate afterward._

_Two, is the question._

"Will I see you again...?" he repeats lowly, moonless sky casts him as a shadow as he wanders aimlessly on the roof. He looks at the sky, wonders where the ever-scornful moon are, then goes to the flickering piece of candle that almost run out of wax.

That boy doesn't have much longer, even with his faith restored so quickly.

He opens his mouth and swallows the light whole.

_Three, is the outcome. Ones that cross path with him shall never regain their vision of the magical world. No more fairies, no more spirits, and no more magical beings their eyes can see ever again._

_In short, they lose their light, __**forever.**_

* * *

**The graveyard exhausted me beyond measure; blame it on my inexperience with death scenes.**

**If you are questioning why past tenses and present tenses co-exist in here, I cheated, lamely. For the next chapters, all will be present tenses (although now I'm having good terms with present tense - something I never thought would happen two months ago.)**

**Candleman is not an OC, if you have to ask, it's a new identity for a ... certain person. You can guess it though.**

**This chapter had undergone beta, thanks to Ghostina's courtesy for helping a wee lass like me. She's awesome, and so are her fics!**

**Hungry author is hungry, and you know what to feed this creature.**


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